Velveteen Rabbit

A mother, a teacher, a student,
a wife,
a daughter, still, at this point
in my life;
the vigour of Vikings
runs strong in my veins,
“You’re a velveteen rabbit,”
Mum said, whatever that means,
and though I thought I was a
despite what she said, she
repeated it often,
even that last time
her death bed.

A story teller, friend,
sometimes I’m wise,
a completer by no means
have been known to tell lies
but not often, I think,
not unless I’ve changed
my past to sit better
well, perhaps rearranged.

Still travelling with hope,
still have time to arrive.
I’m not finished yet.
So far, still alive.

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